


Whiteout

by Accorks (orphan_account), AdinaBryn



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Missing Persons, murder mystery kinda?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-26 21:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Accorks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdinaBryn/pseuds/AdinaBryn
Summary: High school life in the 1960s was interesting to say the least.Alfred had lived a wholesome 16 years in Maine. Known for being rebellious, charming, and athletic, he lives wildly under the knowledge he will be drafted in just two short years. That is, until his brother is brutally attacked.Arthur was to be in America for just ten months. And yet, just a week in, it already seems to be more trouble it's was worth.





	1. Prologue

_Maine, USA 1960s_

“Al--would you cut that out?”

“Jeez, you worry too much.” Alfred rolled his eyes with a wide grin as he dropped his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with the heel of his boot.

“It’s a bad habit.” The other boy spoke quietly.

Matthew had a demure demeanor which clashed with that of his brother. At times outsiders questioned the legitimacy of their relation but this suspicion was dispelled upon closer inspection. Often questions regarding whether they were twins proceeded despite the confounding truth that Matthew was in the grade ahead of his outgoing, taller brother.

Alfred had suggested they go hunting as was customary in their childhood. This suggestion was made out of boredom, having not made any plans for the day, a rare occurrence. Matthew didn’t care for the sport as a whole, finding it barbaric, but Alfred had been far too bothersome about the ordeal to refuse.

The forest air that day was somewhat humid. The leaves which had begun to yellow remained damp from rainfall. There was a chill to the air and a cool breeze encompassing the area, it being customary for temperatures to drop as late September entered.

Quite a few hours passed of searching and waiting. Although Alfred was known to chatter inanely, he became increasingly silent as he got more impatient, fearing he scared the game away. 

After quite a bit of time, Matthew huffed softly. “I think it might be time to go back. You probably scared them away.”

“I’ve never seen it this empty, Matt, just give it time,” Alfred whined despite his own annoyance.

“We’ve been--”

“Hush!”

Alfred came to a sudden stop and held out his arm which his brother bumped into. Squinting through his glasses, he spotted a moose a few hundred yards ahead. Meese, while in season, tended to be much too large for two people to carry back by hand. Despite this, Alfred decided to shoulder his shotgun recklessly, being convinced of his own youthful immortality. Matthew would have stopped him had he not known of his brother’s abnormal amount of strength.

Setting his shotgun at the ready, Alfred took aim. He fired a shot which he hoped would render the animal dead given his experience, preferring not to prolong its suffering. The moose fell to the ground with a resounding thud. Alfred lowered his rifle, expecting to see a carcass given the accuracy of the shot, but was met with a patch of scattered leaves fluttering in the wind. He quickly turned to his brother who he found to be stone still.

“Matt, where did it go? Hey are you alri--”

A screech pierced his ears and he moved to cover them haphazardly, the sound louder than the shot from his gun. Before he could turn away, he found himself thrown to the ground as a mass hurtled into him at wild speeds. His head slammed onto a hard surface causing him to clutch wildly at it, only to find his hands return covered in red. Looking up for his brother, strikingly concerned, he was met with an image of teeth running into a calf, claws digging into a torso, and mangled limbs, warped by cracked glass. He reached for his scattered shotgun feverishly and stood, kicking away the bloodied stone which caused his head to throb and the world to spin around him.

He raised the rifle and stood. Despite his spinning world and cracked glasses, his heart raced and he saw clearer than he ever had. He shot at the massive hulking form in what had to be the region encasing its vital organs.

The creature stopped. 

Alfred almost laughed in relief before he saw a flash of bubbling skin around the wound he had made and the thing sprang wildly from his brother’s already mangled body.

In an instant, he found his back slamming into a tree. He sank to the forest floor to the sounds of gurgling, the chewing of meat, and strangled cries.


	2. Chapter One

He could only hear three things: gurgling, the chewing of meat, and strangled cries. Hunched, a creature with the antlers of a moose and bubbling skin gnawed fervently. Faintly in the distance, a low groaning could be heard. 

Upon closer inspection, the meat being chewed was a human leg. Attached to this leg was a boy who appeared to be high school age. His face, contorted in agony, was a picture of innocence. Blonde hair of a length that challenged the regulations of American schools, however, may have suggested otherwise. 

The creature and the kid were stationed in a clearing. A small tree to the east had been knocked over, likely in a panic of sorts. Clusters of bushes holding black cherries stood, calmly swaying in the wind in spite of the scene. Several birch trees could be found to the west. He may have viewed it as a peaceful clearing to spend the summers in, had it not held such an abhorrent sight in its centre. 

Soon the boy had hardly any of his right calf left; he lost consciousness, no longer able to cope with the blood loss. 

Arthur jolted from his dreams. At once, his hands flew to his face and sweat drenched his clothes. Bollocks, his alarm was blaring in his ears; the clock read half past seven. He was running short on time. 

Deep sleep had left him in a rather groggy state and dreadful mood. Thankfully, the unsettling dream was beginning to fade into obscurity. A local newspaper lay sprawled on the dining table. His host family must have left it out in their scramble to get to work. They seemed to be the forgetful type. Since he had arrived, Arthur had not seen much of them. They didn’t seem to be the norm for families in the area, not gathering for family dinners and the mother working despite the father’s sizeable earnings. 

He nearly turned to exit the house when his eyes caught sight of a bolded headline reading “STILL MISSING”. Curiosity peaked, Arthur hurriedly snatched the newspaper, quickly unfolding it to reveal a familiar picture. His heart sank as he uneasily regarded the image. The boy’s smiling face in the school photo was a far cry from the bloody, mangled expression he had seen the night before, but it was no less a replica of the kid, the same innocent features adorning him. 

Shaking his head, he set the paper down. It was nothing more than a bizarre coincidence. Noticing the time, he shoved the article in his bag and made for the door. 

Arthur nearly walked into a cluster of students in the main entrance. Unable to get around the dense group, he followed their pitying stares. Hushed voices filled the halls as his gaze settled on a broad back. 

“There he is--” a girl sympathised, “Poor Alfred.” 

Another added, “His brother has been gone for a week.”

“He’s long dead by now.”

The boy--Alfred--tensed. He turned towards the student and took an offensive position. Alfred’s face fell into a deep frown. “What did you just say?” 

He stuttered, “N-n-nothing Alfred.” 

Alfred paused. After a few moments, he looked into the crowd. “He’s alive.” 

The crowd sent him soft expressions. A few scoffed, glaring at the floor. One ballsy fellos pushed himself forward. He walked up to Alfred. The murmuring voices resurfaced. 

“We’re sick of your shit, okay? Matthew’s dead.” 

Alfred was still again, contempt flooding his face before he snapped forward. A fast, heavy fist slammed into the other boy’s jaw. He shook his hand, stepping past the crumpled body. 

Nobody helped the whining boy, clutching his swollen face. Arthur figured that people thought he was out of line. Then he realised, no one wanted to even chance provoking Alfred. The crowd dispersed, ignoring the student as he reiterated “I think it broke! I think it broke!” 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Repeatedly, his mind would drift back to that morning. It seemed as though the kid from the paper had sparked quite a bit of controversy amongst the Americans. 

As study hall began he dug into his bag and produced the paper. The same face stared back at him. Even worse, he felt increasingly more certain he had seen the lad. Which was impossible. And yet there was only one way to be certain England was not repeating itself. Sighing, he brandished a pen.

And so, Arthur was sure he had gone mad when he made a left turn at the end of school that day. Clutching the paper from that morning, he ran his fingers over the address he had encircled. It wasn’t anything specific, but he would be able to find the woods in which the boy was presumed missing. He was certain he had passed the address when he first arrived in the town. How ironic it was he was only in America in an attempt to escape his outlandish upbringing in England. 

His suspicions were confirmed when he was met with a dense line of trees twenty minutes later. Inspecting the entrance to the woods, he deliberated for a moment before stepping into the treeline. He had not observed much animal life at all as he got further into the woods, only the gentle hum of crickets. 

A half an hour in he noted a squirrel racing in the opposite direction. The clearing from his dreams still did not reveal itself, even after hours of walking. Although the woods were large, he felt a tad relieved at this, setting out to return. As he turned back he noted a cluster of bushes holding black cherries in the distance. Uncertainly, he approached them. Birch trees stood to the west, a fallen tree in the east. Bollocks.

A snap drove Arthur from his thoughts; he quickly turned to where he believed the sound had come from. Not observing anything out of the ordinary, only trees and foliage, he let out a sigh of relief, reasoning that an animal was roaming nearby. Casting one last glance around the area, he began to approach the centre of the clearing. 

He was pleasantly surprised to see the end of a shotgun’s barrel, hovering centimetres from his face. Arthur paled and a familiar voice hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?”

He opened and closed his mouth, speechless. It was Alfred, pressing a gun to Arthur’s forehead. Arthur shook himself out of his reverie. What a patient lad, he thought with a scoff. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

Alfred’s frustration was visibly increasing and he pressed the shotgun closer, into his temple. “Answer the damn question.” 

Arthur didn’t know what to say...a dream? Who would believe that? He didn’t want to get shot dead in the forest. 

Silence filled the air; Arthur realised the crickets were no longer chirping. He started to respond, but stopped himself once he felt the barrel’s weight leave his skull. Alfred stepped back, eyes narrowed, aiming deep into the forest. Arthur turned, noting Alfred’s target: a distant deer. The shotgun made loud clicks as Alfred readied a shot.

“Wait–” 

A bang broke the silence.


	3. Chapter Two

The deer stood as still as the tranquil forest, big eyes bulging as a bullet dug into its flesh. Instantly, the metal thrust outwards, falling to the ground with a pop. The prey’s silent stance broke as it screeched. Arthur faltered and swore, holding his ears. Alfred continued to glare at the beast. He pulled the forearm of the gun back and shot once, twice. Shells hit the floor. Deer skin shed hollow hair; burbling leather then replaced its skin. The bullets popped out of newly formed gurgling patches.

“Alfred, that’s not going to work!”

Alfred kept staring straight ahead, dismissing Arthur’s protests with a scoff. He’s a stubborn bloke, Arthur acknowledged in addition to his irritable mood. His attention was brought back to the creature, which began to draw back onto its hindquarters, jagged claws tearing into the ground in front of it. It barreled towards them, unfazed by the bullets that pierced its forehead. 

“Son of a-- _it’s not bloody working_!” Arthur slapped the shotgun out of Alfred’s hands in frustration. “Are you daft?!”

As the gun flew from Alfred’s grasp, a thud shook the ground. Turning away from Alfred, he noticed the creature knotted in a tangle of its own limbs. Ten metres away from its original position. He stared in confusion as the creature snapped its body back into place with a crack.

His fixation was broken by a hand on his arm, tugging him backwards. 

“Let’s go!”

Arthur turned away, allowing Alfred to pull him through the dense cluster of birch trees, weaving every now and then. He heard an enraged, now lower pitched, shriek and the sound of leathery skin scraping the forest floor as it fumbled. A large crash could be heard as it mowed down a birch tree, four distinct feet hitting the ground in a wild flurry. Alfred’s grip on his forearm grew impossibly tighter and they began to race through the debris. Arthur’s heart thumped and he could feel Alfred’s grip becoming clammy in trepidation. The thumps and bangs grew increasingly close. There was no way they could outrun it.

Alfred made an abrupt stop causing Arthur to crash into his side. Alfred finally released his bruising grip and scrambled for something in his pocket, producing a pair of keys.

He caught sight of the slanted and haphazardly parked car. Alfred ran towards it and tried, with shaky hands, at the door’s lock. A loud thud rang out, in eerily close proximity. Arthur watched him nervously.

“Hurry up!”

“Fucking--you’d think I’d think of that one, right?”

Finally the car door flew open. Alfred threw the keys at Arthur who swore and shoved them into the opposite door. Practically jumping into the car, he flung them back at Alfred. Twisting the keys into the cognition, the car roared to life, before falling silent. Any relief they had allowed themselves to feel was soon countered with more adrenaline.

“Bloody hell!”

The creature knocked down the tree nearest to them, now having hardly any deer characteristics left. It stumbled in front of the car.

“ _Fuck, fuck, shit_ \--” Alfred murmured, pressing down on the gas pedal and twisting the key in and out. Finally, the car lurched forward. In front of them, the creature roared and prepared to slam its fists. Placing the car into reverse, Alfred slammed his foot on the gas. The creature’s fists fell onto the ground. After taking note of its folly, it launched itself forward in anger.

Placing the car in forward drive, Alfred swerved into the woods, in the opposite direction of the patch of birch trees. Behind them, distant crashes could be heard as the creature gave chase. These began to amplify as the beast slowly closed the gap between it and the car, despite the breakneck speed they were traveling at. Just as Arthur caught sight of it again in the rear view mirror, Alfred twisted the wheel completely to the right with a screech, leaving him to clutch at the seat. The sounds began to recede as it barreled forward due to its inertia.

Had it not been for the series of random and sharp turns that followed, the thing likely would have caught up to them. After thirty minutes of having visibly lost it, Alfred slowed the car and pulled onto a trail. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he sighed in relief. Gradually, the remaining tension left the car to be replaced by an awkward silence.

Within an hour, they were able to locate a road. It was another half hour before they could see a town.

Alfred, with one hand on the wheel, turned the car into a parking lot. The vehicle sputtered after pulling into a vacant spot; Arthur stirred from his nap near the window. He gaped, dumbfounded with the small building before him. A red sign, weakly blaring light, displayed cream letters. ‘Holy Donut’, it flickered.

Arthur glared at Alfred. “Doughnuts? Really?”

Alfred, swinging his keys, exited the car. The door slammed behind him, wisps of frigid air creeping inside. Arthur groaned, frustration heating his cheeks. He didn’t sit alone for long as his jumpy attitude ushered him out of the car. 

He weakly pulled the shop door, it was heavy, and it clicked shut again. With a tired huff, he pulled harder. Warm air greeted Arthur, who felt the cold outside, and he moved further into the Holy Donut. 

There his eyes fell upon Alfred, who was awkwardly balancing two water bottles and a paper bag. Alfred, noticing Arthur’s gaze, motioned to him. Arthur was led to a small, round table. As he sat, Arthur relaxed, noting the stench of fried pastries. 

“Glazed is good, right?” Alfred retrieved his frosted doughnut from the bag, giving Arthur a chance to get his. Mouth full of doughnut, Alfred spoke again, “You saw what happened to that deer?” 

Arthur tried to ignore the question, preferring to forget. The experience welcomed many sleepless nights, but his mind began to wander to the events despite himself. He recalled the creature, ready to maul them, but then—

“You threw that thing,” Alfred smirked, crumbs surrounding his mouth. 

Arthur pursed, “Idiot. Are you always this messy?” 

He raised a brow, finally chewing with his mouth closed. 

A few minutes later, the pair returned to the car. Alfred was sour, Arthur noticed, as he brought them further into the unknown. A stale silence stuck between them, but Arthur paid it no mind and happily took that time to rest. He leaned into the chair as his eyelids drooped. His vision went dark and the atmosphere was still.

“Woah, wait—”

Arthur jumped in his seat. He felt a large hand nudge his shoulder, head, then forearm. 

“—You can’t sleep, that’s not fair.” Alfred whined and Arthur noticed his casual, playful tone. 

Odd, he thought, Alfred was ridden with anger during their happy hike in the woods. Even before, at school, his contempt had been abundant. Arthur couldn’t understand. Contemplating, his eyes screwed shut and Arthur focused on his goal. Sleep.

An upbeat tune broke the car’s silence. Roots rock with some ghastly American singer. The radio, Arthur noted and grumbled when Alfred began to sing. The song, reaching its chorus, brought Alfred’s hand to the volume knob. Alfred mimicked the singer and orchestrated a delightful crack with his voice on almost every note. Arthur wanted to check his ears for blood but denied Alfred the pleasure. 

Alfred persisted while Arthur stubbornly feigned sleep. His ears rang, so Arthur barked, “I’m not sleeping!”

He faced the driver. Crimson flushed his face as he cursed Alfred over and over. Alfred laughed and, immediately, Arthur stopped his pestering. The car could have been shaking, just like Alfred, who wore a bright smile. 

“Arthur, right? The exchange kid?” Alfred waited for Arthur’s short nod, so his gentle expression withered, “You were there, in the morning.”

Arthur, who had his eyes trained on Alfred, shifted back into his seat. Everyone was crowded together in that hall.

Alfred rubbed his neck and continued, in a soft tone, “A nutcase, I was. I bet you know why.”

“Yes.” Arthur breathed, carefully proceeding with the conversation. He didn’t want to end up like the kid with his broken jaw. Again he felt the car move, Alfred’s heavier weight leaned slightly towards him. Arthur duly noted the bulging muscles in his arm as he carefully learned it on his chair’s armrest.

“You—” He slowly began and Arthur didn’t miss his expression, flashing pain, “were in those woods. But, I won’t ask why or how.”

Arthur would have appreciated his thoughtfulness if he didn’t feel the intimidation. He was unsure with Alfred’s next words.

“You’re in this with me now.”


End file.
